Just Me
by Ivy Leaves
Summary: Lily's diary of a rather interesting day, in which she discovers an affection for someone, puzzles over the good looks of his arse, reflects on her social status, hates the world, and finally decides that being plain ol' Lily Evans isn't so bad after all.


Author's Note: Sorry about the poem-thingies. They're my doing—Lily just seems like the kind of person, to me, who would scribble random poems in her diary, that's all. Don't get too mad at me… and, my darling reviewers (if you exist), attempt such a thing as constructive critiscm before you arbitrarily flame me, okay? Just try. Please?

Just Me 

EARLY MORNING

         I've never been the prettiest, or the smartest, or the nicest. Just me. I've never really stood out, but never really blended in. I've never been outgoing, but I've never been reticent, either. I've never been beautiful, I've never been ugly; I've never been intelligent, I've never been unintelligent; I've never been kind, I've never been mean. Plain ol' Lily, that's me. No one really cares much about me, except for my friends… and I'm not extremely popular. Just a few close friends, I guess: Faera, James, Remus, Leila, Veronica, Sirius… that's all, mostly, and Sirius—well, he's usually too busy with his latest girlfriend to care about his friends. James is getting to be the same way, lately, and I have no idea why. We used to be really close—but not anymore… it's odd. I have no idea what's been happening.

         Except that I do know that I've been starting to feel really… I don't know. Uncoordinated and sick? More so than I usually am, that is. Uneasy and self-conscious and terrified and nervous and—what's _happening_ to me? It's frightening, really, just amazingly scary…

         Maybe that's why we've been growing apart. I wonder… it's possible, you know. With James—and me… everything is.

we're in a corner

playing gin rummy all night long

listening to your

absolute favorite song 

         I don't know what I'm writing! Is _this_ what James does to me? Oh, I better not tell anyone. They'd think I like him or something! And I don't… do I?

         It's so hard, being sixteen. I'm so confused. My life is confusing, overall, but now I'm more confused than ever. I hope I don't like him; it'd be _awful_. But I can't help what I feel, you know.

         I'm just plain _admitting_ I like him, aren't I? Well, guess what, I think it's true.

         Revelations, revelations.

         How horrible of me! To like my best friend… and he'll probably find out. I'm not good at hiding things… Great, just great.

                  I could be your Cinderella from the ashes

                  a phoenix rising, golden slippers

                           yes, I could be a Cinderella in my nightdress

                                    all white and silver, like a faerie

                                    but then, I only come out at midnight

                           only with you there – only with you there

         Oh, and I _do_ wish I was his Cinderella…

         Time for my lovestruck ramblings to end, dear diary, time for them to end. Breakfast calls, and I can only _hope_ that I can see James there!

         --Lily

LATE MORNING

         Charms class, but I've done my work, so Professor Flitwick won't mind if I take a break. I'm top student, after all! Just _think_, next year, I've got a shot at being Head Girl! Imagine that! Me, Head Girl!

         Although I suppose it's because everyone else is just not qualified. The girls in my year seem to be more interested in boys and hair-flipping, with the exception of Leila and Faera and Veronica, but Leila's just simply not good at Charms and Faera is _hopeless_ at Herbology. Veronica just isn't interested in being Head Girl. She's more of an artistic person, I s'pose, which is why she's not too good at Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and such things. She really excels at DADA and Transfiguration and Divination—although that Hufflepuff named Sibyll Trelawney or such is positively a Transfiguration _nutcase_. No, no, I mean _really_—she once walked up to me and said, "I read auras. Your aura is demented. Were you in Azkaban in a former life? The Dementors have done a good job. You look almost normal. Let me see your palm."

         I ran away from her, with good reason.

         Anyway.

         James…

         Yes, let's get back on the subject of my lovestruck ramblings, why don't we? I've finally admitted to myself that I like him… a _lot_. Merlin, I can't believe myself… I shouldn't like him, I really, really shouldn't. It's horrible—and evil—and sacreligious—and—

         God, he has a nice ass.

         I did not just write that—I know I didn't. I couldn't have. I'm Lily Evans. I'm a goody-two-shoes. I do _not_ think about the arses of my best friends.

         Best friend, actually, because I don't find girls, Remus, or Sirius sexually attractive, thank you very much, but whatever.

         If you want to know why I'm thinking about his arse, it's because he just _had_ to go ask Professor Flitwick a question—I'm not sure what, I was paying more attention to things other than his inquiries—and he just _had_ to ask him right in front of my desk. Well, Flitwick's desk is right in front of my desk, so it's logical, but whatever.

         With his back turned to me, and his oh-so-wonderful arse right—

         Okay, you know what? I'm not going to go into the details. Just take my word for it—he has an _extremely_ wonderful as—I mean arse, don't swear, Lily dear.

         Mmfh, he sat down. So no more ogling James' arse. Right.

         Of course not.

         Except for when he gets up again.

         It really sucks, liking your best friend.

NOON

         NEWSFLASH! It's not like: it's love.

         Dammit!

THREE MINS LATER

         Alright, I don't know how it happened. I know everything—but I don't know this. I have _never_ fallen in love. That just doesn't _happen_. Lily does NOT equal love.

         Except for now.

         Because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when you're in _like_ you don't want to cry when you think of him snogging another girl in the back corner; that when you're in _like_ you don't turn pink all over (and I mean ALL over) when he brushes against you; that when you're in _like_ you don't dream about marriage and children and other such things.

         _Marriage. Family. _Not marriage, oh oh, the sex! but marriage, oh oh, I'm devoted to them forever.

         And so many people mistake like for love, but I'm not one of them. If it's like, it's like. If it's love, it's love.

         No maybes about it.

LATE AFTERNOON

         Yeah, just great. James and Crista (one of his many girlfriends; a fourth-year Hufflepuff) have finalized their fissure (after only one day, five hours, and twenty-three minutes!), only for James to hook up with Rachayl.

         What is _with_ this womanizing stuff?

         He didn't use to be like this, I swear. He used to be nice and talkative and find plenty of time to hang around his best friends, but not anymore. Now he just spends all his time with a stupid chick on his arm or in his lap, kissing his cheek and giggling _constantly_. Honestly!

         Oh God. Do you think it's because he hates me? Do you think that's why? He's not hanging out with me anymore because he hates me? He's finally gained senses and sees a taciturn fireball shrimp? I _knew_ this would happen! And just when I realized I like him!

         I hate my life!

         easy I know

         to leave me in the dust

                  my glass slipper is long since worn away

         but you know—I still care, even if you've

                  forgotten

oh _god_ Cinderella has lost her glass slipper—and her glass slipper was all she had left

Yes, I'm _so_ good at explaining in my deluded, freakish poems, aren't I?

         Well, that's no matter. You're an inanimate object, so you don't care about my horrid poems, which is good. Because I don't want my _diary_ of all things throwing rotten tomatoes at me. (I don't know where you'd get the rotten tomatoes, and you don't have hands—but whatever.)

         You know, I really do think that he's forgotten all about me. That or he hates me. Take your pick.

         I think I'll go curl up in a ball and sob awhile.

                           --Ever-Depressed Lily

EARLY EVENING

         I've decided. He doesn't hate me.

         He just despises me.

         And my guts.

LATE EVENING

         I didn't go to dinner. Faera says James was worried. I told her that James forgot that I exist. She said that wasn't true, and I told her that if it wasn't, why was he pulling away from me?

         She wouldn't answer.

         Faera is so _aggravating_. But she's still my best friend.

         Oh, Faera's talking again.

         "Lily, come _on_, you _know_ James hasn't forgotten about you! You're still his best friend!"

         Come off it, Faera. We both know that isn't true.

         Me—"fine, Faera: he hasn't forgotten me, he just hates me!"

         "Lily, stop it. You know that isn't true either."

         "Is so!"

         "You sound like a two-year-old."

         Gee, thanks, Faera. I feel loved.

         Faera again—"those aren't the only possibilities."

         "Then _what_, pray tell, are the others?"

         "I'm not allowed to _tell_," Faera whines.

         I recede into my curtains.

         I hate James for ignoring me.

         I hate Faera for keeping secrets.

         I hate Veronica for no reason.

         I hate Sirius because he's Sirius.

         I hate Remus because he's Remus.

         I hate Peter because I don't like soppy fat guys.

         I hate Leila for… er… no reason.

         I hate Rachayal because I'm so _jealous_ of her!

         I hate the world! (And my life.)

LATE EVENING

         I still hate the world.

                  And still my life!

MIDNIGHT

         I've changed my mind.

         Oh, God, have I _ever_ changed my mind.

         The whole story? Okay, this is how it goes…

         Apparently Faera told James I thought he hated me, so he came in right after my last diary entry and said that he didn't hate me and he never would and he _hadn't_ forgotten about me. I scowled something awful at him and buried my face in my pillow. He tried to get me to talk; I refused. Failing this, he picked me up off my bed (why, oh _why_ can't I weigh more?) and carried me out of the room, down the stairs, and out the portrait hole. By now I was scared and extremely red (I told you, I blush whenever he touches me!) from being in his arms, and was shrieking something _else_ awful into his shoulder-chest-area. His shoulder-chest-area because I didn't want to be discovered by a professor—after all, I still want to be Head Girl!

         So my screams were muffled and we were, miraculously, undiscovered by professors. Thereby we escaped (well, okay, James did the actual _escaping_) to a grassy patch near the lake underneath a tree. Actually it was more of a shrub-ish thing, but I can pretend it was a tree, right? It served its purpose—we couldn't _really_ be seen from Hogwarts, not in James' black robes and my navy sweater and plaid skirt. _Anyway_, James dumped me somewhat unceremoniously on the ground and proceeded to tell me—

         (Here is where I'm going to stop my reflections and tell you _exactly_ what happened. Okay? Here goes…)

         "Lily—look, Lily—I don't—I don't—I won't _ever—_"

         "What's with the stuttering?" I asked. I'm a little too blunt at times, I suppose.

         "This isn't exactly easy!" he shot back. "You trying telling the girl you just _happen_ to be in love with that you like her!" James has a very big mouth. He clapped his hands over this feature and shook his head. "Which wasn't how I meant it," he mumbled through his hands. I was just sitting there, completely and totally bowled over. I think my silence kind of unnerved him—"Oh, dammit, Lily, talk to me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that…"

         "So you don't like me?"

         "Oh, Lily, that _wasn't_ what I meant…"

         "So you don't like me?"

         "Oh, Lily, I—"

         "Tell me, James! I'm sick of you skirting around stuff! You've been doing it forever, and just _stop_ it, okay? Tell me, straight out, what you dragged me out here! Just _tell_ me! Stop avoiding everything, okay?"

         "Dammit, Lily, I…"

         "James!"

         He slumped to the ground where I was and buried his head in my lap.

         "I lusherku," he muttered. Or at least that was what it _sounded_ like.

         "What? Oh, get your head off my skirt, James, I can't hear you."

         He lifted his head and looked at me with those _horrible_ big brown eyes that make me want to do wha—oh, right. Facts.

         "I love you," he informed me. I stared at him, feeling a lump grow in my throat. I hate it when people tease me about something that matters to me!

         "James, that isn't funny—"

         "I wasn't kidding!"

         "James, that _really_ isn't funny!"

         I stood up, whirled around, and attempted to march back to Hogwarts and my nice warm room where I could go to _sleep_. However, James _is_ Chaser on the Quidditch team, and he's got very fast reflexes, so I was in his lap before you could say "lovestruck Lily".

         "I love you, Lily Evans," he whispered huskily into my ear. "And please don't walk away without telling me your side of it all."

         "Goddammit, James, you've got a girlfriend!"

         "We broke up… you missed it…"

         "So I'm going to be played just like Rachayal?"

         "Was that her name?… I wondered…"

         "Answer me, James!"

         "No, you will not be played, Lily, you will be worshipped and kissed and by God, you'll be _loved_, Lily, you'll be _loved_." His lips were so _dangerously_ close to my ear… dammit, I could feel his _breath_…

         "I don't want to be—"

         "Like hell you don't."

         "James…"

         "Tell me your side of it all, Lily—tell me what you feel for me."

         "Friendship, and—and—and—"

         "And what?"

         I don't know how it happened. I don't know anything. I can't remember anymore. All I know is that I turned my head to look at him, kiss him on the cheek, tell him it was just friendship, even if it wasn't, because—oh, I don't know why. Instinct? I'd make a good Chaser, then, if it was instinct, but then again, I'd be going for the wrong goalpost, what with all my stupidity and confusion and whatnot. I guess I didn't want to hurt him, but…

Well, while I was making to kiss him on the cheek, he figured out what I was doing and turned his head. I didn't see, honestly—I don't know if he did—I'm just _ever_ so sure that, five milliseconds later, my lips were right up against his.

         _Kissing_ him.

         _Kissing_ James Potter.

         _Kissing_ James Potter, my best friend.

         _Kissing_ him.

         And moreover, _enjoying_ it.

         See, I've finally figured out why all his girlfriends (who are obsessed with material things and kissing and that sort of thing and not _inner goodness_ like I am… oh, fine, I like great arses as much as the next person) are so head-over-heels for him. Aside from his good looks and great arse and all, I mean. He's a _damn good snogger_. _Damn_ good. And, God, I felt like I belonged there—in his arms, at his mouth, cradled, rocked—I've always had trouble fitting in before, never felt entirely secure. But… oh, dammit, I feel so _safe_ in his arms!

         Of course, after about seven minutes of snogging—gentle snogging, mind you, James is very considerate, but still, snogging—McGonagall found us, and sent us straight to bed (our _individual_ beds, she specified) with two months' detention and forty points each from our house. I'm quite sure that we'll regain the eighty points though, and Gryffindor's ahead anyway…

         And so I'm here. Having just snogged James Potter. With enjoyment. 

         And so I've been thinking. I still think of me as "just me", because that's really all I am. But the thing is, see, _just me_ managed to get James' attention. Romantic attention. Even as his best friend. And _just me_ managed to get Head Girl—well, most likely, anyway. And _just me_ managed to fall in love with James Potter, all in one day. And _just me_ managed to get James Potter to fall in love with me.

         And I have no idea how long his love for me will last, and mine for him, but I know that when I wake up tomorrow morning, I'll wake up to the prospect of being the one to greet him with a good morning kiss and being the one to hold hands as we walk down the hall and being the one that _he_ is in love with.

         And even if his love for me _doesn't_ last that long, we've got now. Oh, we've got now for _forever_, Diary, you've got to believe. 

         And I don't know how that sounds to you, but it sure sounds like pretty good for just Lily Evans to me.

         And I think maybe, just maybe…

         Well, I'll let you finish that thought on your own. I'm not sure what it is yet. Maybe I'll figure it out eventually. I sure hope so.

         But in the meantime…

         Well, you can finish that one, too.

         --Lily


End file.
